


Cry for me

by Kikiro (kikirochan)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Human Trafficking, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikirochan/pseuds/Kikiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert and you are the victim of kidnapping and human trafficking. You were sold to a man who goes by 'Mr. Strider' and while he has shown himself to be kind to you when you are obedient, you are terrified to find out what he could do if you disobey him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i will take prompts for this to be added in the future, the first few chapters are gonna follow a bit of a plot tho.
> 
> there is no planned ending in sight. this means that if the prompts run dry and ive explored all the plot points i have in mind then the fic will just end there. i will try to have one update a week, aiming for every thursday.

Wolf whistles, cat calls, indiscernible screams you would rather not hear, the crackling of a mic over speakers echoes and silences the crowd. The smell of sweat and piss, booze, like your father would have at night after a long day at work. The man with the mic introduces the people to the event, an auction, then commands someone else to remove the curtain obscuring the people's view of you.

The blindfold you wear is shitty, allowing you to still see the ocean of perspiring lard, but the gag is secure in your mouth, letting spittle escape from the sides of your mouth when you try to scream. The harsh leather around your wrists keeps you tied to something far above your head, the chain is only long enough to let your toes touch the grimy stage. You are not wearing any clothes.

There is laughter, they are laughing at you, laughing at you as you struggle. The man with the mic stands in front of you but doesn't obscure the crowd’s line of sight, he settles the people down and starts the auction proper this time. You try to block out the shouts by thinking of what your father must be doing. Is he trying to find you? How long have you even been here? You've been inside ever since you were taken out of your own bed at night.

What did your father do when he woke up that morning and saw that you weren't already up for school? You know it must be obvious what one would do upon finding out that their 13 year old son is missing, but you find it comforting to go through the steps he must have done.

You know he would probably start by calling your cell phone. If the people who took you didn't take your phone, your father would then find it in your room. But if they did take your phone, and maybe other things to make it look like you ran away, would your father try to wait at home for you? Would he call in sick from work and go looking for you by himself?

“Sold! For four million dollars!” 

The voice pulls you out of your head with a jolt. You are moved off to the side, probably to meet your new 'owner’ and for money to be exchanged. A strong hand grips your chin as the blindfold is ripped off your head, a whimper escapes you as the man looks into your eyes. Or you guess he does; he's wearing shades, which makes you wonder how he can even see in the darkness here in the back.

He seems to nod approvingly and ties the thin fabric back over your eyes in a way that doesn't allow you to see anything this time. The bindings on your wrists are unshackled from the chain and you almost fall to your knees. Your arms are sore from being restrained above your head for so long. Briefly, you wonder if it would be worth it to try to make a break for it but think better of it; you've had enough punishments before for having tried it.

“Hold your arms out.” A deep voice tells you at the same time your forearm is pulled out in front of you. You do as he says, mimicking the angle with your other arm. Bundled fabric is forced over your arms and head then straightened out on your torso. It's warm and soft on your bare chest, the long sleeves are worn loose around the wrists as if the previous owner pulled the hemming over their hands all the time.

“Lift your legs. One at a time.” The same voice says, a hand grabbing the underside of your elbow to give you balance. You lift one leg and another bundle of fabric is forced over your foot, you do the same with the other foot, when you put it back down the fabric is pulled up over your legs. Feeling it with your hands, you recognize it as jeans, very loose jeans. The waistband is pulled at your side and pinned together at your hip so they won't fall down.

“Come on.”

The man pulls you by the arm, leading the way, out what sounds like a heavy door and into the cool air. It must be night time because you hear what sounds to be crickets. Crickets? There aren't crickets out at night with how cold it's supposed to be in Washington this time of year. Where the hell are you!?

Your walking falters in your confusion which earns you a nice tug, almost sending you falling forwards onto your face if not for the guy's hold on your arm. The two of you walk for a little bit longer before you hear him pull out some keys and a car unlocks in front of you. He opens the door, holds your head as he guides you into what must be the back seat, and cuffs you to a bar in the middle of the car. He shuts the door and reopens one in the front, most likely the drivers door, and takes a seat, buckling up.

It's quiet for all but your breathing, then the man clears his throat, moves in his seat, and the gag is being removed from your mouth. Your jaw aches like your arms had when they were let loose and you stretch the muscles, letting them slack.

“What's your name?” He asks. The sudden twang in his voice throws you off guard for a second.

“John.” Your own voice sounds rough, your throat dry and mouth not used to being able to form actual words.

He starts the car and pulls out of his parking spot. It's a few minutes before he speaks up again.

“You are to call me Master, Mr. Strider, or Sir, and nothing else. Got it?”

You nod your head and you assume he watches you from the rearview mirror.

“You the quiet type ain't cha’?”

You nod again, this time he snickers.

“That'll change soon enough.”

He goes back to being quiet and you slump in the seat. Soon you begin to fall asleep to the motions of the car.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake up, snug as a bug in a rug. Dully noting you are in bed, you roll over to try to go back to sleep. It is then that you realize you went to bed with your jeans on, but when you take them off you notice that they aren't even your pants. 

The shirt you wear isn't yours either. This isn't your bed. And this isn't your room.

Fear takes over as you pull the pants back over your hips, because you are in a stranger's home with no underwear on and the last thing your sleep addled mind can remember was being sold off in some human trafficking auction, possibly as a sex slave given the self-designated title of your owner. You slide off the bed and walk fast but silently to the door, trying the handle, you find it unlocked.

You release the door as if it burned you, thinking it being unlocked could be a trap, you weigh your options. You could try to find your way out as it seems to be a room in a house, or, you could wait here patiently like a good little boy and not get punished for trying to run away.

As much as you are scared of the possibility of a punishment, you would much rather find an escape from what might prove itself to be the deepest level of hell.

Peering out the door reveals a hallway lined with doors similar to the one of the room you stand in, all with a number, the integer increasing after each one like apartments or a hotel. The walls give a southern feel with the country themed wallpaper trim and light yellow paint. Your room number is 16.

You decide to leave the room and make your way down the hall towards the staircase at the end. A door opening beside you causes you to freeze in your tracks, the other person must have been startled by you being there as well since they've stopped mid stride. You look up at them to see that it's Mr. Strider.

“Good morning, Mr. Strider.” You greet him.

“Good morning… Did you sleep well?” He still has a twang so you figure he must have been hiding it at the auction.

You hum an affirmative.

“Good. Why don't you come in?” He says taking a step back leaving room for you to slip past him. You do as he suggests in the off chance that wasn't an actual question for what you would like to do.

It's a decently sized room, like your father’s study, has bookshelves lining one whole wall filled with books and little nic-naks. There is an old looking, fancy white couch with two matching chairs at the sides, a glass coffee table sits on a brass stand in front of them. The walls are wood paneling with a few impressionist paintings, a desk sits at one end overlooking the room with its regal woodwork, a large modern computer monitor rests on top with a matching keyboard and mouse.

“This is my office.” Mr. Strider says from behind you. “You won't be allowed in here unless I say so. If you need anything, knock, if I don't answer, don't bother.” His hand threads into your hair as he talks. “Got it?” Mr. Strider bends down to look you in the eyes. You nod at him and wince when his hand fists your hair, stopping the movement. “When I ask you a question, you speak. Do you understand?”

You try to nod as you speak but it pulls at your hair more and stop. “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

The edge of his mouth twitches up in a flash of a smirk. If you do the things that make him happy, you won't be hurt, you won't be hurt, keep him happy. His hand falls from your hair and onto your shoulder intending to lead you to the desk, he sits in the swivel chair and pulls you onto his lap, your back to his chest.

You straddle his legs as an arm wraps around your waist, thumb sliding under the bottom of the shirt to rub at your stomach. With his other hand, Mr. Strider wakes the computer with a jostle of the mouse. The desktop wallpaper is a picture of a boy who looks a lot like your owner but younger, not wearing shades, so his red eyes will look directly at the camera, at you.

Mr. Strider clicks on an internet browser icon on the toolbar and the screen is filled with thumbnails of videos, all seemingly pornographic. Scrolling until he finds what he wants, he clicks on a video titled ‘The best of Dave’.

The video starts with a fade-in of of the same boy from the wallpaper, naked on his knees. There is no sound despite the tab showing a speaker icon. “That’s Dave. He's been the star of the show ever since I started filming him.” He says as the boy in the video timidly begins putting a too-large dick in his mouth. “I’d like to get you on video too.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a squeeze to your genitals.

You swallow down the bile in your throat.

“But. It would be too soon to start you now. You’ll have to be trained first. That’s the one thing I neglected to do with Dave.”

The scene changes to the boy, Dave, straddling the same man's hips, still naked. You notice the room they are in is different, more like a bedroom. Dave then situates himself on top of the man, and makes a pained expression as he sits flush with the other’s pelvis. 

You look away from the monitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a bitch to write, but ive done p good at keeping two chapters ahead for a while now
> 
> if anyone wants to see something specific happen between john and bro or between dave and bro, now would be the time to get yer suggestions heard as i go into writing for chapters 6 and forewards
> 
> enjoy *wonk*

Your eyes sting with the beginning of tears as Mr. Strider palms you through the pants, still straddling his lap. Kisses touch the back of your neck and you choke back a sob. His rough fingers push under your shirt and trail to your chest, effectively trapping you in his arms. Teeth scrape along your shoulder in a nibble before he pulls his arms away.

You let out a little sigh of relief when the touches leave you, but soon he is gripping the end of the shirt and sliding it up your body. Complying with his intentions, you lift your arms high over your head for the shirt to be taken off. He gives you light chuckle that you don’t hear but instead feel through the slight shake of his body and the breath on your skin.

He tosses the shirt to the side and you want to run, but you are frozen in fear. Fear for not wanting to be hurt, but you are terrified for wanting to be touched by those hands that leave a trail of repulsive fire on your skin. 

The hands land softly on your hips and push you up off of your owner. A lasting glance at the monitor shows the video still playing, this time a view of Dave laying sideways on the bed as the man thrusts into him. The man pauses and you can see his dick twitch before he pulls out, grabs the camera, and focuses on Dave’s asshole. A glob of what you know to be semen oozes out of his anus.

You are turned around before you are able to see the next scene.

His hands are on your upper arms, shades abandoned sometime recently as you look into his hazel, almost orange, eyes. “Take your pants off.”

You do as he says, looking down at the pants, hands on the button. It's the only thing left keeping you from being naked. And now this barrier is gone. It sits on the floor around your ankles.

Not knowing when you closed your eyes, they shoot open when light touches on your wrists begin to guide you to another pair of pants. The pants specifically belonging to Mr. Strider.

A ringing starts in your ears as the tips of your fingers land on the crotch of his pants. You try to ignore how the area is straining against the zipper as you fumble the little metal handle and pull it down. Your owner adjusts in his seat as pulls the pants and boxers down a little before pulling out his dick.

You stand there, between Mr. Strider’s legs and the desk, and just stare at it. And he lets you. He lets you look at him. It must be shock. The way you are not examining him, but just, staring. As if you were zoning out. And you might as well be. Zone out and not think about being naked in front of a man who you believe will use your body, who will record the two of you doing-- Urgh. Sexual things. And sell that. Make money off of that. 

Like he did -- does? -- with Dave.

A hand on your cheek, your breath hitches, orange hazel eyes staring into yours.

“Yer pretty when you cry.”

A rough thumb across your skin catches a tear and wipes away its tracks. It goes to your mouth, pulls on your lower lip.

“Need to learn, c’mon.” He slips the roaming thumb into your mouth and rubs it on your tongue. With his other hand he pushes you to your knees from your shoulder. 

Retreating from your mouth, he directs the head of his cock to take the place of the finger. You recoil when you taste the glans but Mr. Strider grabs your head by the hair on the side. This lets him move your head how he wants, and he wants his dick in your mouth.

You manage to take him to the back of your throat and begin to gag when he tries to force more. The reflex leaves more tears in your eyes but he leaves your throat alone for the most part.

“Suck.”

You try to do as he says, hollowing your cheeks as you take his dick as if it were a straw that gave you the nectar of life itself.

“Use yer hands.” He hisses through his teeth. Your hands dart up to squeeze at the remaining flesh of his shaft.

Without notice, his other hand grips your hair on the opposite side of your head and he is trying to move you up and down his dick. The glans hit the back of your throat enough times that you think you will throw up with how abused it feels.

“Oh god.” He gasps as he halts your head, something hot hits the roof of your mouth and, stunned, you instinctively swallow it down.

You silently freak the fuck out in your head because, shit, he just came in your mouth. And you swallowed it!

When he’s done enjoying his release, he pulls your face off his cock and you let go of the base. A trail connects his tip to your lips and you watch as it breaks, part of it connecting with your chin, another simply hangs before stretching so thin that it’s weight makes it fall to the floor.

Your face is being wiped clean with a, what you guess is a baby wipe, considering it smells faintly like chemicals.

“Did good fer yer first time suckin’.”

You don’t respond.

“Got somethin’ fer ya’.”

He pulls open a drawer in the desk and you watch as he reaches in. He produces a slim box just about larger than his whole hand, a perfect square. Opening it reveals a loop of thick leather. 

“You ain’t gotta wear it now, but I hope ya’ will later on.” He pets your hair into some semblance of order. “Get dressed. You want something to eat?”

You stand to do as he says. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, requests?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated the tags. im adding a trigger warning for this one chapter because this only shows up once, if that changes then ill add it as a tag
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> FOOD

Mr. Strider leads you downstairs and into the kitchen. The appliances are clean and modern for the house. The countertops almost sparkle and are quite the different sight to what you are used to at home with your father. 

Your father would always be in the middle of baking some extravagant cake that only the two of you would share. With the inclusion of the confection to your normal diet, you had grown to dislike cakes and baked goods of all kinds. Now, however, it would be a pleasant sight.

To return home to a normal life. Walk into the smell of sugary goodness. The welcoming smile of your father as he moves the whisk in the bowl of cake mix. Betty Crocker. Warm, moist, fresh devil’s food cake. Always covered with vanilla icing. 

You will away the sadness hollowing out your chest.

A chair is pulled out from under the dining table and you graciously take a seat in it. “Grits ‘n eggs sound good?”

You’ve never heard of grits. “What are grits?”

Mr. Strider looks at you for a long while. “I’ll make some an’ you tell me if ya’ like ‘em. How you like yer eggs?” He walks off, circling around the island in the middle of the kitchen to reach into the cupboards for a plastic container that holds something white.

“Scrambled?” You feel like a child for liking scrambled eggs. But they’re good in a lot of things! Like on a salad, in a taco shell with cheese and sausage, or just plain old on a plate with pancakes and bacon.

A moment passes with the clattering of pots and pans from under a counter that you can't see. 

“You like toast?” Mr.Strider says when it quiets down.

“Sure?”

“You like it jellied, buttered, or plain?”

Who the hell eats toast without at least butter? “Buttered.”

He doesn’t talk to you again so you take this time to look around. 

It’s a nice little area with an open wall from the dining room to the kitchen. The dining room itself feels large for the slim table sitting in the middle. The walls are a golden brown color with white trim, absent is the wallpaper that adorns almost every other part of the house. The chandelier above is shaped like a metal lantern harboring only one light bulb inside.

You stare at it a little bit too long and now have a spot in the middle of your vision. The spot moves when you try to focus on it.

A plate is set in front of you with an off-white clump of something that looks almost like rice, with scrambled eggs on the side. Sort of overlapping these two things is a couple pieces of un-buttered toast, a gorgeous golden brown signaling the perfect crunchiness without turning to a pile of crumbs.

Joining the table is a glass of water, a butter knife, fork, stick of butter, and bottle of maple syrup.

“Ain’t got no milk an’ the other stuffs mine an’ Dave’s, so you’ll have to do with jus’ water fer now.” Mr. Strider sits in a chair on the opposite side of the the table, directly across from you, with his own plate of non-descript white clump combined with over-easy eggs, three pieces of toast, and glass of orange juice. “Grits are good with syrup, Davey likes ‘em with just butter.”

Scrambled eggs with no milk? How the hell do they live? Maybe they’re lactose intolerant.

You nod at the suggestion and take the knife in your hand, note that it has a nice weight in the handle, and slice into the butter. Bringing it to your plate, you let the butter melt on the white clump that you guess is the grits. If it’s anything like rice, plain grits will be somewhat tasteless. You then work on buttering your toast.

Mr. Strider somehow finishes his plate before you. “Finish up. Imma make some for Dave, then I’ll take ya’ back to yer room.”

You do as he says and you find yourself being lead back to your room, door number 16, while he balances a tray of breakfast on one arm.

There is no lock on the door, so you think you might do a little bit of snooping once the hallway is clear. A knock on a door some ways down, a murmur of a voice you don’t recognize, and a peek out the door to confirm no one is watching as you slip out of your room.

You’ve already gone the way of the staircase, Mr. Strider’s office is that way and you won’t be caught going in without his permission, so you choose to go the other way. The same way you heard the knock.

A little investigating reveals a door left slightly ajar, door number 22. 

You think it must be Dave’s room, it’s where Mr. Strider was heading and he is nowhere else in the hallway (unless he went back to his office, but you are sure he can’t be that fast, and the floor sure is not that quiet). 

A whimper is heard from the room and you get an urge to look in from the crack. Only one eye is able to look through and you sacrifice your depth of field for a glimpse.

Leaning against the bed is a boy, not unlike what Dave looked like on the computer, but fully clothed and in a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a black tee-shirt. Very plain, indeed. You can barely make out the fact that his pants are unzipped and some green thing that has odd arm-and-leg-like appendages is currently situated ass-first to his crotch. A blindfold is tied around his head and his arms are pinned to his back by Mr. Strider.

The older wraps his arm around to the green thing and slowly pulls it away from maybe-Dave’s front, then moves it back down again. “Please.” The word is nothing more than a whisper but it’s loud enough for you to hear from the door.

You accidentally start to lean into the room, pushing the door as you do and the hinges squeak in age.

Dave has shitty hearing. You straighten out and wait for Mr. Strider to come out to punish you for watching.

“What?” A pause. “Why are you laughing?”

“Get on the bed.”

You think it is time for you to go back to your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, requests?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:
> 
> VOMITING

Your room has it’s own bathroom. Small, with a standing shower instead of a tub. No medicine cabinet or mirror above the porcelain sink. It seems really clean. Not that the rest of the house isn’t clean. It just feels unnaturally so.

You lift the lid and seat of the toilet, roll the sleeves of your shirt up to your elbows, and kneel before the bowl.

The fact that you are about to waste a meal doesn’t sit well with you. But the fact that you have swallowed something you did not wish to lets you overlook the loss of the meal.

Two fingers to the back of your throat and you gag. Nothing comes up. You try again and while the toilet bowl remains filled with only water you felt your stomach lurch. The third time is always the charm.

Stomach enzymes burn your throat, the smell making your eyes water and you curse yourself out for being a cry baby. You register that your hand did not escape being hit by how your fingers slip in your hold of the side of the toilet.

You gasp for breath, sweat begins to prick your forehead. You begin to dry heave.

Finding the roll of toilet paper connected to the wall is easy as you’ve been eyeing it for a while. You keep your face tilted down into the bowl to keep the saliva from getting on your chin, because ew, no thanks.

With your face now clean, you flush the toilet and watch the colors swirl before they are gone for good. You turn on the faucet, cup your hands under the water to rinse out your mouth, and turn it back off.

Tired now, you find yourself heading to bed, forgoing covering up or undressing.

 

* * *

 

Pressure roams over your back as you lay on your stomach. You try to twitch your hand back to brush it off but find that you can’t move a muscle. Everything feels as heavy as lead.

“Shhh.” The pressure strokes down to your butt and pulls the pants you neglected to take off.

Your eyes flutter open and you manage to keep them from closing so you can take stock of the person caressing your body. The body is much too small out of the corner of your eye for them to be Mr. Strider, but you could be wrong.

“So you’re his new play thing, huh?” Okay, yep, that is definitely not Mr. Strider. Even if he does have a similar accent. Though, it’s not his natural accent, like he maybe lived somewhere northern before moving south at a young age.

You try to move again but it’s useless, whimpering in defeat. He has your pants all the way off now. You can’t even feel your toes.

“You wanna know the only thing master wants from you?” A pop of a cap is heard in the room when he pauses. “I’ll show you.” When he whispers, you place the voice as belonging to the other boy you saw earlier, Dave.

It’s a second before you feel something push into your asshole. You whimper again at the discomforting coldness being spread inside you.

“Shhh. It’ll feel better, just give it a sec.” He pushes more in but it doesn’t go deep. It hurts, it hurts so much. You wish you could scream, you wish you could get him away from you.

If you could scream, would Mr. Strider help you? Would this guy be punished? Would Dave be punished or does Mr. Strider like him too much and instead find you at fault? Would he say that you tempted Dave by taking Mr. Strider’s attention away from him. Asking for attention, but not giving him what he wants, so he has to take it by force. You are to blame. You are to blame. And if you tell Mr. Strider, only you would get in trouble.

The assault on your rear halts and the bed jostles as Dave moves. He removes his own pants, you guess, by the clink of a belt. A common sound you heard when your father relaxed at home. And straddles your legs from behind you. A disturbing sound is heard and you close your eyes, which forces out a tear that pools on the side of your nose. You feel so weak for crying.

The peace in your body doesn’t last long as something else, much larger this time, forces itself into you. Hands resting just below your arms are balancing the body above you. Dave stops moving, the faint feeling of warm skin covers your butt, although all you feel is pain. He swears above you.

Suddenly thankful that it doesn’t seem to be dry back there, he beings to move again, but not too slowly. The slap of skin and heavy breathing is all you hear, it’s right in your ear, deafening every other sound. You conclude that the bed is specially made or put together so that it doesn’t make much noise, because you can’t hear the springs.

Your bed at home had springs. Every time you would sit on it, it would squeak. It wasn’t a new bed, you had it for a few years. It was old and had a dip in the middle where you'd always lay at night.

You try to remember your room. Your computer on the desk in the corner, the movie posters overlapping on your walls, the shelves and dresser by the door. The chest in the corner that held the magic trick stuff you had fallen in love with when you were younger. You were convinced that magic was real.

You decide to rearrange the furniture in your mind. Move the bed away from the wall and have it stick out into the middle of the room. Have the desk turned but still in the corner, so that you can sit on your bed and still be on the computer if you decided to. Get rid of the posters, some of them you don’t think you’ll like anymore. Line the empty walls with the dresser, chest, and shelves.

Empty the chest; magic isn’t real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, requests?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote about 1.5k words for this chapter and i dont know if i should be proud or ashamed. updates might be more spread out as i fight with my inspiration for this work.
> 
> have fun ya nerds

The next couple of days go by uneventful. You only sometimes eat the meals you are given. If you can get away with it, you will flush the food instead of eating, not wanting to repeat what you had done before bed with your first meal. You haven't slept well since… yeah. You don’t try to stay up all night; that won’t help at all, but you think you may be waking up easier now. 

You wake up to your door being opened, thinking it might be Dave coming back, you are suddenly wide awake but continue to stay still as if you are still sleeping. When the person goes to the side of the bed that you were facing, you see through your eyelashes that it is instead Mr. Strider. He only sits on the floor in front of you, watching you maybe, and your brow creases in confusion.

“Did I wake you, little one?” Voice soft and soothing, his hand rises to pet at your hair.

You mumble something unintelligible to feign a half asleep state. 

He let a small smile slip onto his face before kissing your temple and leaving the room. You are unable to fall asleep for the rest of the night.

You guess it to be a few hours after sunrise when Mr. Strider comes into your room again, he wants to have a meal with you. You find out that this meal is ice cream. For breakfast. You don’t complain. Even when he wants you to sit on his lap.

When you finish, he doesn’t wash the bowl, instead just sitting it in the sink and filling it with some water to soak. Mr. Strider then leads you to his office.

There is a video camera sitting on the coffee table that is connected to a laptop next to it, as well as another camera for pictures. Mr. Strider directs you to one of the soft chairs that the camera and laptop are not able to be viewed from. You sit down in front of him, hopefully he doesn’t want you to do too much.

He leans over, kisses the top of your head and pulls up your shirt, you finish pulling it over your head. You immediately bristle at the sight of handcuffs in Mr. Strider’s hands.

“Shhh, it’s ok, they’re padded.” He takes hold of your hand and connects your wrist to the chair. The insides of the restraints are indeed plush. Your other arm is restrained.

Mr Strider kneels before you and begins to work your pants off, you look to the side at the setup on the table. He spreads your legs, pulls you closer to the edge of the seat, and begins licking at your genitals. Your breath betrays you in a gasp, and whimper as he takes you fully into his mouth.

He releases you when your penis is able to stand on its own, completely disobeying your wishes. Your owner scoots on his knees to pick up the camera. While you know nothing about cameras, you assume this one would cost a good deal of money. He messes with some settings before turning back to you.

“I got this fer Dave one year fer his birthday, but he decided ta’ be a bad boy an’ disobey me. Now it's mine. Keep ya’ legs spread.” He raises the camera to look through the viewfinder, takes a picture, you look away, another picture, he stands to get a different view, change the angle, change the reference point, more pictures.

Satisfied with what he got, he places the camera back on the table, and sits on the couch to mess with the laptop. After a bit he grabs the camera again, turning it over to take a memory card out of the bottom and stick it into the laptop. A few clicks and a sigh later, Mr Strider takes the camera to his desk, storing it in a drawer or something.

“I'll be right back, don't go anywhere.” He leaves you with a wink.

You manage to will away the erection your owner gave you as you wait for him to return, and you hope he returns soon. Not that you want to do more things with Mr Strider, but because being confined to this chair might just be worse than isolating yourself in your room. At least while in your room, you were free to move about and could probably roam around outside the room if you wanted to.

It isn’t too long before Mr Strider reenters the room and you almost ask to do something that could comfort you, like sitting on his lap or just hug him, but fight the urge when you see who walks in after him.

Mr Strider brought Dave.

You become giddy with the thought that maybe Mr Strider knows what he did to you, knows that Dave hurt you, somehow, someway. That he will be punished. That you will be protected.

Dave looks at you out of the corner of his eye while Mr Strider still has his back to him. It makes you uncomfortable and you shift to sit farther up in the seat so you can hunch over, closing your legs.

His attention snaps back to Mr Strider as he turns around. “Ya’ know the drill, Dave.”

“Yes, sir.” He nods and pulls off his shirt, immediately after moving to his pants. Seemingly approving, Mr Strider takes his own shirt off while Dave practically dives for your owner’s pants.

With them both naked, Mr Strider sits right in front of the camera, taps the laptop's touchpad, then sits back. Taking it as his cue, Dave walks in front of the camera, straddles your owner's lap, and begins giving light kisses on Mr Strider’s lips. The kisses deepen as hands wrap around to knead at Dave's ass. He may be showing off Dave's hole, now that you think about it.

They stop kissing and something is whispered that you didn't hear, but Dave gets off of Mr Strider only to sit back down facing the other way. He puts his feet up on the couch and stretches an arm to hold onto the back of the furniture, the other arm braces on Mr Strider as he lifts his hips up. Your owner positions his erection to enter Dave, then pulls him down fast, causing Dave to cry out.

Dave stays still for a bit before beginning to move again, cock waving in the air before the camera.

“They love ya’ Dave. Do you love them?” Mr Strider says, perhaps referring to whomever may be watching the video.

“Yeah.” Breathes Dave.

“Yeah, what?”

“Yeah, I love them. I love them so much, oh god.” Dave tosses his head back and your owner immediately goes to bite at his neck.

Mr Strider makes him slow down, hands on both sides of his hips, and takes a large bite into Dave's shoulder, causing him to moan loudly. Not too much later they still, Mr Strider's dick twitches, Dave reaches for his own cock and begins to pump slowly. Your owner pulls him off, semen drips from his ass as he rolls to the side but is stopped by an arm around his waist.

Mr Strider taps the touchpad again and takes his attention to Dave, pulling him to lay across your owner's legs this time. 

“What did I say 'bout touching yerself?”

Dave stiffens at the tone just like you do. “T-to not to...”

“And what did ya’ do?”

“Touch myself.” His voice gets smaller.

A hand is raised and lowered so fast you almost didn't see it, and might not have known it happened if it wasn't for the loud crack paired with the scream.

It's not exactly the punishment you were hoping he would get, and you don't know if it makes you feel empathy for him, but it does somehow make you feel better to see him get spanked like a small child.

And a spanking like a small child does he get. When Mr Strider is done, Dave is in tears trying to hold in sobs, his cum smeared ass is now accompanied by reddening handprints.

He scrambles off of Mr Strider’s lap and hurries out of the room, still naked. On his way out, he shoots you a look, if he had lasers in his eyes, you would be dead.

You watch the door close before turning to your owner. “Mr Strider?”

He hums at you.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Now he looks at you, confusion on his face.

“Please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, requests?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not too happy with the length of this one but i like where i ended it, so a somewhat smaller chapter to go with the monstrosity that was the last chapter

After redressing, you spend the rest of the day at Mr Strider’s side. Dave shows his face a few times, particularly while the two of you are in the kitchen, but not for long. Once he sees Mr Strider with you, he turns tail or stays quiet, never bothering you. It’s the first time you have a full meal more than just once in a day since you were kidnapped.

Your owner makes you sit on his lap, he holds you, kisses you. His touches are soft, loving.

The two of you had gone back to his office at some point. You sit on his lap, hands flat on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Mr Strider rubs circles into your right side as he works at the computer.

He shifts in his seat reaching for something while trying not to have you move too much. A drawer opens and you sit up straight to watch what he is doing. It’s the box again, the one that held the collar Mr Strider got for you.

“Put yer chin up.”

He pulls the collar out and reaches it around your neck, fastening it in the front, not too loose, not too tight.

“Matches ya’ hair.” And it does, being the dark brown, almost black color. You touch your fingers to the metal; the buckle is cold and has a lock on it, something that would require a key likely to be in Mr Strider's possession.

He smirks and hooks a finger under the leather, pulling you closer to him. Mr Strider gives you a kiss on the lips, chaste and lingering. He does this a few more times before pulling your bottom lip in. Stubble scratches you as his teeth dig into your flesh.

The hand at your side moves to your butt and you squeak when it squeezes. He releases your lip and breathes his chuckle at you, you pout out your lip at him, playful. Mr Strider keeps a small smile on his face as he licks at the offering, both of his hands roam your backside.

The feeling takes you back to days ago, you let your head fall back to his shoulder and he, thankfully, stops his ministrations.

Instead, his right hand grips the back of your hair making you raise your head up again.

“You should thank someone when they give ya’ something.” You don't think he is talking about the collar. 

“Thank you, Mr Strider.”

He responds with smashing your mouths together again in a more heated movement, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You don't dare try to pull back at the intrusion.

Your pants are being undone, a hand is slipped under to pull your dick out, Mr Strider keeps it in his hand as he redirects his mouth in an assault on your neck. He starts pumping you slowly, sucking in rhythm on your neck with his hand. You hate that it feels good. You hate what this does to your body. 

You hate your body.

You hate that Mr Strider likes your body.

It doesn't feel like your body anymore and you are trapped in it.

You really need to learn how to stop crying.

Mr Strider's movements pause and he kisses away a tear that trailed down your cheek without your permission. He lets go of your hair and moves your hands down to his own pants. You already know what he wants you to do, so you do that. His penis is larger than yours, but that's a given considering Mr Strider is much older than you.

He wraps his own hands around yours, still on his dick, and makes you jack him off. You try not to look at your hands, so you look at Mr Strider's face, who is also watching you similarly. He gives you more kisses, just as soft as his first.

Your erection must have been wilting because Mr Strider puts your penis against his and pumps them together. His cum gets on your shirt, ruining it. You can feel his heartbeat through his cock as it pulses in his orgasm.

He doesn't let you go and continues to work you. Your orgasm comes suddenly and sharp. You decide you don't like it. He squeezes every bit of semen out of you, wiping it onto your shirt.

“Ya’ll dirty now.” He smirks, tucks the both of you back into your respective trousers and takes your shirt off. Wading it into a ball and pushing you off of him, he stands. “Time for bed.”

He leads you out of the office and the opposite direction of your room, down the stairs and into a room that is larger than your own but smaller than the office. It must be Mr Strider’s bedroom. You are directed to the bed and take a seat on top of the covers. It’s higher and fluffier than your own bed and you have to scoot back to keep from slipping off the edge.

You watch Mr Strider as he disappears into a connected bathroom, you hear the water running for a little bit before he comes out, patting his face dry with a hand towel. You idly swing your legs, bouncing them off the bed’s frame and box-spring, your owner walks over to where you sit, and kisses you again.

Maybe you can get used to the kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, requests?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it seems to me, that i am updating every other week, as inspiration hits me for other works, and bounces back to this one. i sincerely wish i only had inspiration for one work at a time, and in a steady flow all throughout the week, then putting out chapters would be easier.

You wake. The bed you lay in is entirely too warm but also so comfortable that you don’t wish to leave. You let out a content sigh and attempt to bury your face farther into the pillow.

Something touches and moves your hair from your face, halting all your movements as you feel it do the action again. You realize your owner is still in bed with you.

You move to look at him through sleep hazed eyes, you blink a few times, curling your legs up to make a space between him and yourself. He smiles. You smile back.

Nothing happens for a while, other than his hand continuously caressing your face. It’s an odd peace you are granted right now and you think that if it weren’t for a good night's rest, you might have fallen back to sleep. You close your eyes, trying to, maybe, resume slumbering.

The bed shifts and you find yourself being pulled across Mr Strider’s body, head resting on his upper arm, leg being held across his stomach as he lays on his back. The position makes you nervous, even more so when his hand on your leg starts to rub up and down.

You try to roll over, put your back to him, but he keeps you from moving. You huff through your nose and decide to stretch your back. This action leads you to stretching your legs, your muscles tremble before relaxing back to their previous position. You’ve rolled more onto your stomach, arms curled under your chest, hands clenched loosely, your face is smooshed into his bicep.

This is when you lose the concept of time, the room around you occasionally becoming a void with a background sound of breathing. You are vaguely aware that it is light outside, but you can’t remember how you know. You just understand that it was bright in the room at one point, and now it’s not as bright.

You start to sweat. A combination of the body heat beside you and your own body heat both being trapped under the thick blanket. You peel your face off of skin, at some point you had moved your head to the side, to allow better breathing conditions, which made you start drooling. There is a sizable puddle on Mr Strider’s arm.

You don’t move. Thoughts sprout in your mind. Your nails are getting long; they will need to be cut, you are sure Mr Strider would like that. Long nails can sometimes hurt, especially if you were to try and file them down so they are more like claws. That would look weird on you.

You also need a bath, you’ve been too afraid to bathe in the chance you felt dissatisfied with yourself. Besides, there is no soap in your room’s shower, maybe the water doesn’t even work. You wonder if your owner would like to wash you. It would be quite the excuse to have his hands on you while naked. You make a note to ask him.

A bubble bath with a back massage, complete with little kisses to your skin.

Rough hands scratch along your legs, tracing undecipherable patterns on your skin. Your owner is awake, you wonder for how long.

Mumbling something into his arm stops the hand from moving. Instead, it leaves a warm patch as it raises to your face, and again, moves your hair back.

“Don’cha’ think it’s time ta’ get up?”

You groan. What a spoiled child you are being, always able to sleep in and complains when they are made to get out of bed.

“Com’mon.”

His weight shifts and rolls on top of you. It’s oppressive and sends you into a mild panic, your head shoots up, almost knocking against Mr Strider’s chin, and you are suddenly up on your knees. Pushing off the bed, you kneel beside your owner.

“Okay. Breakfast.” He smacks your butt before crawling out from under the covers.

 

* * *

 

It is after your meal and you are currently sitting on your owner’s lap as he gives you kisses.

He had forgone making anything for Dave, most likely because it was later in the day that the two of you decided to leave bed and eat.

Mr Strider’s lips pull away and you think you give chase before he turns his head a little, letting out a light chuckle of his. You pout, kissing tends to keep your mind off of other things, even if you can’t get rid of the sensations that plague your body, ghosting along your backside.

“I got some things ah’ gotta do. An’ I gotta leave you here, ‘kay? Don’t want ‘cha gettin’ no bright idea’s if I bring you with me.”

What Mr Strider says reminds you that you are a prisoner here, completely against your will. Somehow, this makes you feel hollow inside.

You have been hurt here. Things have happened that your warden does not know about, that you are too afraid to outright tell him.

“Don’t you worry, Davey won’t bite ‘cha.” He laughs his stupid airy chuckle. You think it’s meant to be a joke. That Dave can do no wrong, for he is the most perfect person in all of humanity despite possibly being raised by a potential psychopath.

You withdraw into yourself and let Mr Strider walk you to your room. You absently hear the door close behind you and a locking mechanism click into place.

As if the sound itself was a bolt of electricity, you snap back into yourself, almost gasping for air. The footfalls of your owner have already retreated out of your range of hearing as you turn around and jimmy the handle, finding it locked securely you begin to yank on the handle instead.

This does nothing more than keep the door on the hinges, still locked closed, so you stop.

You are alone, locked in your room, in a building that houses a being that seeks to maliciously harm you without letting another soul know by avoiding putting signs of abuse on your body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i found a good spot to end this chapter that was also within my ideal word count length, so i took it. what i was going to end this chapter with will be saved for the next update.
> 
> i am so sorry for the tameness of this chapter.
> 
> kudos, comments, requests?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, betcha didnt see this coming
> 
> me updating i mean, im p sure this whole chapter was predicted

You sit on what is supposed to be your bed. The wall in front of you is all you dare look at as you wait for your owner to return home, unlock your door, and protect you from the real horror.

Creaks and pops echo through the building on occasion, making you jump when it is completely quiet, you remind yourself that it is only the building settling.

Sometimes you think you hear footsteps, that scares you the most. You don’t know if the lock on your door needs a key or is easily opened from the outside.

Will _he_  come in?

Will _he_ hurt you again?

You would pray if you knew it would work.

There.

Steps stop right outside your door.

You stand.

It hasn’t been that long since Mr Strider left.

The door is being unlocked.

You find yourself under the bed, a lacy skirt hangs from the frame, it’s a tight fit but still easy to get out from underneath if you need to run.

The door opens, you hold your breath. On the other side is not, in fact, Mr Strider. You are not surprised. You are, however, deathly afraid.

Four steps in, the door still open. He stands right in front of you, in front of the bed. You don’t know what he is doing but you need to breathe.

He walks into the bathroom.

You take the chance that is given to you and you slip out from under the bed, quietly get to the open door, and close it. The locks are simple enough, turn a knob there, slide that and that into place.

The door is pulled on, much like you had done earlier when Mr Strider left. You hear curses from within, jump when he pounds on the door.

You should leave. You know this. Why aren’t you acting on it.

You don’t know how long the door will hold up if he continues to bash at it.

You go towards the stairs, stopping to look at the door to your owner’s office door, decide against hiding there for fear of something worse, and continue on down the stairs. There is a room you never went into, it’s furnished like a living room. Scarcely decorated bookshelf with horse and wizard figurines, yellow flower print couch. But you don’t have time to admire the scene.

A cabinet of an entertainment center that only houses a stereo is what you choose to hide yourself in. It is cramped and dusty, but you are able to look out towards the way you came in when you open the door just a crack.

You don’t hear the wood crack upstairs. You don’t hear the swearing as he lets himself out of your room. You don’t hear him go through all the other rooms upstairs. You don’t hear him come down the stairs.

You do see him go into the kitchen, look through the cupboards, look out the windows, and eventually turn his sights on the room you are hiding in.

Your legs ache from being curled up in this tight space. He walks past your hiding spot, you don’t know if he saw you, god you hope he didn’t.

The door opens so fast and you have no idea what to do. But it doesn’t matter, because you are being pulled out by your hair, you beg for him to stop, please, don’t, no.

But he doesn’t listen to you. He doesn’t listen to you as he smacks your face, forces you to the floor, pulls your clothes off. No, please, no, stop, no no no.

You are dragged to the table in front of the couch, bent over the edge. Stop, please, no, please.

You try to force yourself up, but he keeps you down with his weight against your back. The hand still holding you by the hair lifts your head, and slams you back down onto the table. You don’t want this.

Pain soars through your head from the impact. You close your eyes and stay still. Don’t want this.

He has a lazy smile on his face through all of it.

When it is over, you wait for him to leave before you slump onto the floor. The carpet scratching and burning your skin when it rubs against you while you sob. You don’t clean, or cover yourself up.

You don’t know how long you lay there crying. When Mr Strider sees you, he takes his time getting to you. “What happened?”

You can’t answer him through the force of your sobs.

Mr Strider says nothing more as he plucks you off the floor, and moves to the couch, sitting you sideways, cradled on his lap. Your sobs wrack your whole body, your owner clutches you closer to himself, his other hand on your head resting on his shoulder. He shooshes, slowly rocks side-to-side, wipes your face dry only to be replaced once again by more tears.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Yer alright, babe, shhhh.”

Maybe you would have been safer hiding in his office, despite whatever punishment you might have received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comments, requests?


	10. Chapter 10

You are tired, everything is a dull ache. A throbbing pain starts from behind your eyes. How long were you crying in Mr Strider's arms? You watch the dust dance in a beam of light, and try your best to stop your body from jumping with every breath.

“You good?”

You are not startled by your owner talking, and respond with a nod and a broken, “yeah.”

He shifts his hold on you and stands, carries you up the stairs and into his office, and lays you down on the couch as if you were a fragile porcelain doll. Oh what a broken doll you would be, no use being careful with you for you are already damaged beyond repair. Why would anyone keep such a broken and dirty doll like you.

“Dave never did learn how to clean up after himself.” Your owner sighs and kisses your temple. He walks over to the desk, you hear him pull open a drawer, close it, and walk back over to you. He places a laptop onto the coffee table in front of you. “Stay put.” And he leaves the room.

You don't move from your spot. Instead, you stare at the wall across from you. It doesn't matter how long you lay there, it doesn't matter what happens to you.

Mr Strider eventually returns. For some odd reason, he simply stands in front of you for a little while before kneeling and opening the laptop. He taps at a few keys and glides his finger over the track pad. The screen is at an angle that makes it almost impossible to see what he is doing, he does turn and adjust the screen when he is done to allow you a better view.

The picture on the screen is dim but you are still able to tell what is clearly shown. Dave, laying naked on his back on a thin ragged mat that can't be thicker than about an inch or two, arms folded behind him, legs tied together at the ankle and knees. He doesn't move from the spot, but is clearly awake and breathing.

You prop yourself onto an elbow so you can see the screen straight. Mr Strider stands and leaves the room again, your eyes follow his departure before focusing back onto the computer.

The scene doesn't change for a bit, then Dave's head turns, not towards the camera but to something off screen. You think there is sound coming from the built-in speakers on the laptop, but you can't tell what it's supposed to be. Finding the speaker icon, you turn the sound up enough to catch the voices.

“Ya’ think it's funny?”

The smile on Dave's face falls as he shakes his head. “No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Sorry aint enough, Dave.” Your owner kneels next to the tied up boy and attaches something shiny and oblong to his cock, like a tiny cage complete with a lock and key. Your hand finds your collar and straightens it so the lock is in front.

Mr Strider flips him over and pulls his hips into the air. Dave wiggles but is stopped by a hand on his thigh. 

“It's time you were punished.” Your owner reaches for his belt, tugs it free of the loops on his pants, and matches the ends of the strip together.

The first hit lands with a loud crack and a cry. “You hurt him.” A second crack, a plead. “You used him.” Another crack, another cry. “Without my permission.” Dave is silent as more hits land, turning his ass a ripe red long before it is over.

The belt is discarded, sniffles echo in the room. Mr Strider shuffles behind Dave, straddling his legs. He adjusts, then thrusts forward.

“It hurts.” A sad whisper to the room.

“Oh, it hurts now does it?” Your owner grunts as he jostles the boys hips and continues to thrust into him. “Ya’ don't deserve anythin’ less.”

You watch with sick glee as the boy is hurt, as your owner releases inside him, tells the boy he loves him, then leaves him there still tied up and laying naked with a cage on his dick in that little room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was dialogue i omitted from the end of this chapter and the chapter that dave first hurts john because i didnt feel like it suited the place i was giving it. i dont think it changed much about the story although what bro would have said would be a little background into his and daves past that i havnt decided whether or not to write about, so it would have been pointless if i added the line/s and then not elaborate. it could be quite sparse but if anyone would like it, i might make it into a different fic.
> 
> kudos, comments, requests?


End file.
